Paintbrush; tarnished by tetanus and
rage. Clutching to the handle, so
Desperate, are hands of the most
beautiful kind.
Tainted so in the deepest shade of sin.

Fingertips to broken knuckles
to wrist- flick. Violet stains
canvas; pre-medicated strokes
dance shy upon.
Lips part; breathe resigns quiet within.

Every night spent tasting the sweet
poison of insomnia- tears
gone unseen- are replenished here.
Each stroke weeps
silent hymns of the saddest kinds to be.
Soft watercolor dreams drip down his chin.